


I Can't Believe I'm Doing This

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:06:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A Mulder/Krycek first time set within the "I Don't Remember How It Happened" universe.





	I Can't Believe I'm Doing This

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

I Can't Believe I'm Doing This by Merri-Todd Webster

Slashx: 26 Jul 98  
ArchiveX: 27 July 98  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Krycek belong to each other, at least for the duration of this story, and to Chris over there at 1013 on a permanent basis, but unfortunately, not to me.  
SUMMARY: A M/K first time set within the "I Don't Remember How It Happened" universe.  
Okay, friends, I slaved for weeks over this one, so you'd better like it. ;) I know, I keep whining about how hard, um, difficult I find it to write M/K. This is a "prequel" to "I Don't Remember" and narrates the first time with Krycek that Mulder tells Walter about in that story.  
This will be archived at my fic page by the incomparable Mona Ramsey [Archivist's Note: Website address given by author is no longer valid but Merri-Todd's fic is available at: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/8298/] and may be archived at Archive-X/. Anywhere else, please ask, I am unlikely to say no.

* * *

*******************************  
I Can't Believe I'm Doing This  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
*******************************

I can't believe I'm doing this. I should be home trying to sleep, or if I can't sleep, like Cole, I should be doing something about the X-Files, working on my own time, calling my contacts, trying to get them to re-open the division. I'm so sick of this surveillance work, listening to third-rate criminal wanna-bes chew the fat on tape, I could go postal. If all else fails, I'm going to try to go back to profiling, maybe for a while.

But instead of doing what I should be doing, at least trying to sleep, maybe call Scully and see how she's doing, I'm going out with Alex Krycek. Going out for a beer, that is.

He asked me before we left the office if I wanted to go out for a drink or a bite to eat. I said no, but after I'd been home a few hours, done everything I could do to distract myself, and realized I was even tenser than usual, I called him back to ask if the offer was still good.

So I'm walking with Alex Krycek across the parking lot of a bar out on the road somewhere, between greater metropolitan areas. It's a surprisingly chilly night, the sky over head so clear and black that it hurts, like a noonday sky in summer, and I'm shivering a little in my t-shirt and jeans. Alex is walking just ahead of me, dressed in a good-looking black leather jacket. He's not shivering. He's... prowling. I can hardly believe this is the same stiff, geeky, by-the-book guy I've been partnered with since the Cole case. He must have washed his hair because there's no gel in sight; it sticks up in spikes in a feline sort of way, looking soft and pettable. And in the jacket, with jeans that fit him right, he looks less skinny, less breakable than he does in those godawful suits he wears, like somebody's kid brother always tagging along on a date. He looks damn good.

But I am not going to go there. I do not need to notice how fucking good Alex Krycek looks. I have enough problems right now without the ones that come with fucking your partner. Especially if your partner is a guy.

Krycek has stopped and is looking at me kind of oddly, with his head cocked. After a moment he slips out of his jacket and hangs it around my shoulders, as if I'm his little brother. I start to say something, but he shakes his head. "Never mind, Mulder. You're wearing a t-shirt. I'm wearing a long-sleeved thermal." He resumes walking toward the low, dark building across the lot, and it takes me a second to get myself together and follow him. The thermal shirt clings to Krycek's shoulders and back, and the smell of him clings to the inside of the jacket.

The bar is as dim inside as it was on the outside, dim and smoky and smelly. Someone at the other end of the room is playing something vaguely jazzy on a piano, and everywhere I look, I see men. Just men. All between twenty-five and forty-five, all smugly well-groomed, all obsessively good-looking. The smells of half a dozen different colognes, all worn in large quantities, hit me at once, and I have to fight my gag reflex. Guess what, we're in a gay bar.

We wind up in a booth near the piano with a beer in front of each of us. Krycek is watching me through those disgustingly gorgeous eyelashes, the kind of lashes women hope to get out of a tube of mascara but can't. Am I going to freak out? Is Mulder secretly, despite the X-files, a straight arrow frightened of anything "queer"? It's not like I haven't been in a gay bar before. If I can just survive the cologne competition, I'll be okay. I suck on my beer and coolly watch Krycek watching me. What's your game, Alex?

"How long have you been with the Bureau, Mulder?"

I make a face into the suds. "Is that your idea of small talk, Krycek? Why don't you just look up my file?"

He smiles disarmingly. "Point taken. So why'd you say yes to my offer? After a few hours?"

I shrug, blowing at the foam on the beer. "Bored. Lonely. Nothing to do. Why'd you ask me?"

The smile is even more charming, now. "Why do you think?"

I crane my neck and look around the room ostentatiously. "Well, either you're trying to freak me out, or you think I'm attractive and you're hoping for something."

Krycek does a spit take with the beer and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. I can't help noticing how those full lips are glistening with moisture.

"Okay, okay, you've got me." He sets the beer down on the dark wood table. "I did bring you here because I'm... interested. And not just in your fine mind and your brilliant career." Those big green eyes are twinkling wickedly. "And I thought that maybe, if you *didn't* freak out, I'd have a chance with you. So do I?"

Nice to talk with someone who cuts through all the crap. How do I return the favor?

"I know what kind of vibes I give off, Krycek," I say finally.

"Alex," in a soft voice. I'm not quite ready to go there.

"But just because you've been watching my ass doesn't mean I've been watching yours."

Right away he slithers to his feet and gets out of the booth with a little twist. "Sorry, Mulder. Guess I misread the signs. Should have paid more attention to whose ass you were watching."

I get him by the arm. "Wait. Put your back down, okay. I said I wanted to go out and have a beer." I let go of his arm and point at his glass. "So let's have a beer. What's your hurry?"

Slowly, Krycek sits down again. The way he twists his hips to get into the booth is even more obvious this time, but I don't think it's a come-on. I think I'm just seeing some of the Krycek you don't get to see when he's on duty. He hides it well, this side of him--confident, graceful, blatantly sexy. It doesn't seem out of place in this bar.

I drink some more beer and he does the same. He drinks about half the glass before he looks up at me again.

"I know I'm not Scully, Mulder, but I am your partner right now. I'd like that to be more than just an assignment." His voice is quiet, almost as if he's talking just to himself. "I didn't ask you out just so I could get into your pants for a quick one--though I wouldn't say no." He flashes that seductive smile that I've seen for the first time tonight. "I'd like to be--shit, this sounds so juvenile." He shoves the beer away and slouches against the back of the booth. "I hope there can be something more than just work between us. Friendship, maybe."

I look at him for a long time, feeling the first warming inside me. That kid-brother look he has is back, but it's not cute or pathetic. It's sad, and I know sadness. Sadness is one of my two or three closest friends.

So it makes me drop my guard, a little. I can remember when I was his age, when I was a new agent, when I wanted nothing more than to be the most fiendishly brilliant profiler the Bureau had ever seen and put away more serial killers than everybody else combined, back when people talked about my brains and my dedication in admiring tones and predicted promotions and my being the youngest this and the youngest that.... Back before I discovered the X-files.

"Maybe," I say, and down the rest of my beer. "Drink up, I'll buy us another."

*********

It's maybe two hours later. Definitely more than two beers later. My throat is sore from yelling at Krycek over the music, which got louder and louder the whole time we were there. My eyes are stinging from the cigarette smoke, I know my clothes are gonna stink. I have this hazy, fuzzy memory of watching Krycek get up and dance, by himself, to some godawful disco song, Donna Summer or Rod Stewart, dance like a cross between a cobra and a Kabuki actor. I think people actually cleared out of his way to watch. I must be making that one up.

I'm sure he could have gone home with half a dozen other guys, but somehow we're back in his car and he's driving very slowly, very cautiously. "We should have called a cab," I mutter.

"We'll be fine."

I raise my head and stare out the windshield. The car goes smoothly and steadily into the night, other cars zipping by a lot faster. Is he as drunk as I am? I haven't been drunk in decades. Well, not really, but it feels that way, and this is a good beer drunk, raw, a little silly, and comparatively cheap. I just hope I don't spew onto the floor of his nice clean car.

That's my building. I fumble obsessively for my keys. Krycek gets out of the car, comes around, opens my door, and holds out his hand to me. "Why, thank you," I say in Scully-like tones, "you're a true gentleman." Then I spoil my impersonation of a lady with a truly wet and raucous belch. Krycek snorts.

"Come on, Mulder, lemme help you upstairs."

I'm leaning on him pretty hard as we go in the front door of the building and up on the elevator. Good thing tomorrow is Saturday. No, wait, tomorrow's Friday. I think. What time is it now?

"Is this it, Mulder?"

I squint at the numbers on the door. Forty-two. "Yup, this is me."

Krycek takes the keys out of my hand and opens the door for me. I fall through, nearly fall flat on my face, but he grabs my arm.

"Easy, Mulder."

"Easy as falling off a log." For some reason this strikes me as extremely funny, and I start laughing helplessly. Yeah, beer is a silly drunk.

"Which way is the bedroom?"

Giggling and snorting, I point toward door number one, door number two, door number three. "Over there. But I usually sleep on the couch."

Krycek steers me toward door number three. "Over There" is running through my head, so I start singing, but I don't know all the words. Abruptly I realize I'm on my back on the bed, probably fell there, and my partner is stripping me. Scully? No, not Scully.

"Hey, man, I can undress myself."

"I don't think you can, Mulder."

"You're just trying to take advantage of me."

He gives me a disgusted look. "I don't seduce drunks. Christ, if I'd known beer would hit you like this, I'd've suggested we go someplace for coffee."

I can't remember the last time I slept in the bed. Too much trouble, usually. But Krycek has gotten everything off but my shorts and is lifting my legs up so that I pivot on my ass. My head falls short of the pillow, so I squirm up onto it.

"'Night, Mulder."

He leaves the room and shuts the door all the way, throwing the bedroom into darkness. I sink into the darkness like it's quicksand and then there's nothing else.

***

I don't know how long I was out. It was more unconsciousness than sleep. Before I'm even completely awake, I'm on my feet and running to the bathroom, gagging. The beers and my dinner and maybe my lunch proceed into the toilet.

I jump when a wet washcloth appears in front of my face. Still crouched over the bowl, I look up the hand and the arm holding the washcloth to Alex Krycek's face.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. Making you sick to your stomach wasn't on my agenda."

I take the cloth and wipe my face. "'S all right. I'm gonna--I'm gonna take a shower."

The cool shower helps a lot. Getting the smell of beer and smoke and vomit off my skin and out of my hair. When I come out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around me, Krycek is sprawled on the couch, watching cable news. I'm surprised to find him still here.

"I made some coffee," he says casually. "And ate a couple Pop Tarts." A grin flits over his mouth quick as a bird. "Haven't had those in years."

"Help yourself." The coffee pot and two mugs, one half-full, one empty, are on the coffee table, with a little pot of cream. Where'd he find the creamer? I didn't even know I owned it. I fill the empty mug and drink it black. It's even better than the shower.

I sit down on the edge of the couch beside him. He glances at me and gives me a friendly half-smile, then looks back at the news. Some old guy is droning on about Whitewater, but Krycek looks really absorbed. "Don't you have cable at home?" I ask.

"What?" He glances at me, at the tv, gives me an irritated look. "I took you out. I got you drunk. I got you home and in bed before you passed out. I just thought I should make sure you were all right."

"How long was I out?"

"Not quite an hour and a half." Krycek pours himself another cup of coffee. As he leans forward, closer to me, I notice the reek of smoke and beer on his hair and clothes, and my stomach lurches. But I also notice the shape of his mouth and the thickness of his eyelashes as he sips the coffee. I come to a decision.

"Why don't you take a shower, too?"

He eyes me over the rim of the cup. "If you feel like staying," I add.

I'm totally unprepared for the kiss. He darts forward, presses his lips lightly to my cheek, then slides them over so that they brush across my lips and wind up not quite on the opposite cheek. In spite of the stink of the bar on him, or maybe because of it, my cock jumps under the damp towel, and I almost drop my coffee cup. My cock does more than jump when Krycek pulls back and gives me that slow, seductive smile.

"Okay, I will."

He gets up and slithers away into the bathroom. My eyes are glued to his ass as he walks away, and I'm sure he knows it. Wants it. I've known since I was fifteen that I'm attracted to men as well as women, but I've never been *this* attracted to a man. And I've never had sex with a man, not counting the occasional circle jerk as a teenager. Too busy, I guess. I haven't had sex with that many women, considering the opportunities.

Well, I'm not a teenager any more. I'm a man in his thirties who's sitting up in the middle of the night, listening to the shower run and seriously considering having sex with another man for the first time. Alex Krycek. A few months ago I resented him, almost hated him. I didn't want this greenhorn geek in my life, I wanted Scully, and the X-Files, I wanted my old life back. And now... now I want to have sex with him. How did this happen? Why is it happening?

I sit there and ruminate over the taste of the coffee until Krycek comes back into the living room. This guy doesn't waste any time--he's stark naked, his hair wet and spikier than ever, and he's half hard already. He walks right up to me, confident as a hunting cat, kneels in front of me, and kisses me again.

Oh, this is good. This is very good. He's very good at this, and he's seducing me with those lips and that tongue and that hand on my cheek as surely as if I were a sixteen-year-old virgin girl. His tongue slides in and out, in and out, suggesting and requesting, and his hand slides gradually down from my cheek to my shoulder, then to my chest; his fingers brush over my nipples, which immediately wake up and say hello, and then the hand descends slowly, inevitably to my stomach, to the knot of my towel.

My hands have gotten into his hair, I'm holding his head like it's a cup I'm drinking from, and I'm drinking him, tasting him, greedy for this first real taste of another man. Not for the first time, I wonder why most people think it matters, why someone's partner has to be one sex or the other, why most men would never do what I'm doing. He tastes so good, he must have brushed his teeth or used my mouthwash because his mouth is clean and tastes like mint, not beer, and he kisses so well, better than most women I've kissed. He's chewing gently on my lower lip--he's not the first person to do that--and then his hand slides into my towel and closes around my cock.

"Jesus!"

I tear my mouth away and fall back against the couch as Alex strokes me, up and down. Now I'm thinking of him as Alex. My chest is heaving like the first time I did a real morning run. I pry my lids up and see him grinning at me, sweet and confident.

"It's easy, Mulder," he says cheerfully. "I've got the same equipment you do, and I know exactly what to do."

"Can we do it in the bed?" I ask weakly.

"You want me to carry you?"

I lean forward and grab his arm to help myself up. "No, I can walk."

I'm about to turn around when he pushes me, sharply, and I fall forward onto the bed with Alex on top of me. All the breath flies out of me, and when it comes back, the first thing I notice is the heat of his cock nestled between the cheeks of my ass. All his weight is on me, his hands are running up and down my arms, and his tongue is worrying behind my ear and along my hairline. In spite of how heavy he is, I feel like I'm on fire.

"Alex--"

He twists away and pulls me over with one hand on my shoulder. Part of my mind is surprised at how strong he is, surprised to be with someone who can manhandle me. //Of course he can--he's a man,// the joker in my head quips back. Now I'm lying on his chest, looking down into eyes the color of a lime-flavored snowball, eyes that look like they see my surprise and find it amusing.

"Sorry. I forgot you're a beginner. You *are* a beginner, aren't you, Mulder?" I nod once, thanking God he didn't use the word "virgin". "Then just relax, let me handle this. Just let me know what you like--or don't like."

Nodding again, I center myself on the bed and take a good deep breath. Alex drapes himself over me like a cat on a couch potato, twines his fingers into my hair, and starts kissing me again. We kiss and kiss until we're making disgusting yet erotic squelching noises with our lips, yet he's in no hurry to move on. And neither am I. I hardly notice it, at first, when his hand starts wandering down the front of me again. It's like I've gotten used to his touch, as if it were my own fingers brushing under my jaw, tracing my collarbone, gently squeezing my nipples.

I pay more attention when Alex finally drags his mouth away--literally, drags his lips down over my chin, throat, chest and fastens them on my left nipple, while his hand curves around my cock. There's absolutely no hesitation in the way he takes hold of me, pumps up and down, runs his thumb over the head, then kneads me with rippling motions of his fingers like a cat at its mother's teat or a pianist playing scales. There's no hesitation in my responses, either; I'm hard, I'm leaking, and I'm pushing up earnestly into his hand, cupping his head again and getting my fingers wet in his hair. I can smell him now, *him*, not bar stink, not my soap and my mouthwash, but Alex, skin and hair and breath and crotch, and it goes through me like a knife, Mulder, you lunatic, Mulder, this is a *man* sucking on your nipples and playing with your cock, God, what an adventure.

"You like this?" Alex asks me, in the tone of someone who knows what answer he's going to get. "You like feeling my hand on your cock? Like what I'm doing to your nipples?"

"What do you think?" I gasp.

"I think you're a slut, Mulder," he says conversationally. He sits up and teases the inside of my thigh with his nails, still keeping a good grip on my cock. "I think you've been dying to have sex with a man, and you didn't even know it. Probably too distracted by Scully."

Something cold slashes across my stomach when he mentions Scully. I almost shove his hands away. "Leave her out of this," I say hoarsely. "This is between you and me."

"Okay, Mulder. Just you and me."

He slides over on top of me and kisses me again, wiggling his hips so I can feel our cocks rubbing together, trapped between our bellies. He looks--and feels--as good, naked, as I'd imagined when I first saw him, earlier, in casual clothes--sleek, lean but muscular, not quite as hairy as I am. I wrap my arms around him, squeeze his buttocks, sweep my palms up and down his back.

"How do I feel, Mulder? How does it feel to be touching a man?"

"Good.... Good."

He nibbles on my earlobe, runs his tongue around the rim. "You want me to blow you, Mulder? Can I suck your cock?"

Possessed by some demon from Oxford, I answer, "I don't know--*can* you?" He gets the joke and proceeds to show me just how well he *can*.

I have never had a woman suck me that I didn't feel it was kind of a concession on her part, something she had to do to be fair but didn't really enjoy. I don't get that impression from Alex. No, I get the impression that I'm his favorite flavor of ice cream. He licks, slurps, swirls, and nibbles, making a lot of noise while he's at it--how does he know I like noisy sex? I almost lose it when he sucks it all into his mouth like a big hot lollipop. Jesus! I didn't think real people could do that. With my eyes closed, I have no idea that my partner is a man; with my eyes open, it's that much more fun, the kick of doing something out of the ordinary. I'd rather be Kinky Mulder than Spooky Mulder, even though kink's not that unusual in the FBI.

When I'm gasping and thrashing and most of my groin area is wet from his mouth, Alex sits up. He gives me the world's most evil grin. "How're you doin', Mulder?"

"Fuck you," I manage.

"Sure, if you want," he replies amiably. I blink a few times.

"You'd let me fuck you?" 

Alex makes a face. "No, Mulder, you're frigid, you're boring, I'm gonna leave right now. Yes, I'll let you fuck me. I've done it before. You wanna try it?"

I think about this for a minute or so. It takes me another minute to get up the nerve to tell him what I really want.

"Actually, I'd rather you fuck me."

Something softens in his face, heats up, but I can't tell what emotion is behind the change in his expression. It could be tenderness or contempt or something else. "Okay, Mulder. Relax. I'll be good to you. And I'll stop if you need me to."

He gets off the bed, saying, "Be right back." I try to relax but, fuck, I was damned close to coming when he stopped touching me. All I can think about is what I'm about to do, and nothing about that is relaxing. When he comes back with lube and condoms, I guess he must have had them in his jacket. I've got lube for hand jobs, but I can't even remember if I've got any condoms around.

Alex climbs onto the bed again and sits down beside me. "Turn over, Mulder." I do, and he starts touching me again, lightly, half-arousing and half-soothing. His hand runs down my back, from my neck to my ass, leaving a river of something, heat, liquid, in its wake, runs back up again, up and down, and at last comes to rest around the curve of my ass. I feel wired like the highest string of an electric guitar, and at the same time I feel like I'm dissolving, soaking into the bedsheets like hot oil. The first touch between my buttocks is so easy I hardly notice it; his finger runs down the cleft, just like his hand ran down my back. Still, I jump a little when he sinks into the cleft and touches my asshole.

"Easy...." Alex sits up, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him open the lube and dip his fingers in it. The next touch is cool and slick, but I'm ready for it. I pay very close attention to what he's doing and how it feels, and try to remember to breathe evenly. His finger circles round and round the opening and sinks just a fraction with each circle until the tip of the finger is in me. Very gently, he moves the fingertip in and out.

"How's that, Mulder?"

"Fine," I mumble, and wince at the echo of Scully. There is no Scully here tonight. There is no Scully at all, or else I can't do this. I'll think about that later.

More lube, warmer, and the finger slips in deeper. He keeps going a little further, checking with me, then adding more lube and going further still. His voice is so patient; he doesn't even sound aroused. But he wants to put his cock up my ass. And I want to let him.

Deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper. Being opened. Being filled. Being the one who gets to lie still and take it, who has to be asked, "Are you okay?" I refused when Phoebe wanted to try this. She sang the praises of prostate stimulation, but I wasn't letting her anywhere near my ass. And now Alex has his finger in all the way up to the knuckle, and when he bends it slightly, everything goes black and I shudder all over.

"You okay?" He runs his fingers through my hair.

"Yeah, I think. Damn, that was good. And I didn't even come. Almost." 

I sound asleep, or drugged. I think maybe Alex is a drug, and after one taste, I'll be hooked. But at the moment, I don't care. I only want more of what he has to give me. The forbidden fruit.

Soft moist lips on the back of my neck, a husky whisper. "You're doing great, Mulder." Slowly, very slowly, the finger withdraws, and a little noise comes out of my throat--disappointment? Then the finger comes back, dripping lube, and this time it's two fingers, and as patiently as before, he works them in.

I'm sweating and squirming and practically whimpering as Alex Krycek's slim strong fingers fill up my ass, stretch me open, as his lips wander over my neck, ear, and cheek, as he whispers things I can't quite make out, but they turn me on anyway. He moves to kneel over me, and the wet head of his cock touches my thigh. With what's left of my ability to think, I think about how it will feel to take that cock up my ass, and I groan helplessly, wanting it and dreading it, feeling like there's this membrane I have to tear through, this huge wall I have to break through, in order to get to something, but I don't even know what that something is, I only know I need it. My eyelids are squeezed so tightly shut that it hurts.

"Easy, Mulder." A soft pat on my shoulder and those fingers all the way in my ass, moving but not thrusting. "You roll over so your back is toward me. We can lie on our sides."

I manage a shaky, "Okay," and do as he asks. His fingers stay inside me, guiding me, until I've turned; then he carefully pulls out again. I really am whimpering, biting my lip to keep from saying "pleasepleaseplease".

"Hang on. Got to put on the condom." I wait, biting my lip, wait, wait, until I feel his chest against my back, those tortuous kisses on my neck again. Alex inches closer, and I angle backward, canting my hips toward him to make it easier for him to get in. The head of his cock nudges my asshole.

"Right--there. Hang on, Mulder." He grips my shoulder and I feel it happening: I'm taking another man's cock up my ass. It's so damned *easy*. I can't believe how easily Alex's cock slides into me, how good it feels to be opened that much more, how hungry I am to feel this, to let him do it. I am *ready*, my body is ready, I want this, need it. The last little drops of fear in me sizzle away like water on a griddle in the heat that's between us as his pubic hair tickles my butt and his hand curls around my flagging erection.

The tip of his tongue flicks my ear. "Jesus, Mulder, you are so tight, but that was easy, wasn't it?" Alex is gasping, almost laughing, and so am I. This is *fun*.

"We have to get to work in a few hours, Alex, so are you gonna fuck me, or not?"

He laughs loudly, right against my ear. "Oh, I'm gonna fuck you, Mulder. I'm gonna fuck you so good!"

He starts moving against me, not hard, not fast, but it feels so intense I want to pass out. Until I get used to it, and then I want more. I start pushing back against him, rocking my hips, and Alex gives me a little more, a little more speed, and then a little more force. I wish I could see his face; his breath hits my back in little puffs, and he's saying something under his breath, words, maybe, not just grunts and groans, but not in English, I think, but who knows, how can I think right now? His slippery hand slides up and down my cock, which is as hard now as before he entered me, and his cock pounds harder and faster into me, and it's just so good, I hear myself making these noises, crying out, loud as a woman, and Alex's voice is getting louder, too, spitting out curses and prayers, oh, God, and then his *teeth* clamp into the muscle of my shoulder, close to where it joins my neck, and I'm out of body, gushing out of me, screaming, with Alex right behind me, right behind me groaning into my flesh and coming inside me, oh, God....

When I can think again, when I can see again, I notice that it's starting to get light outside. Were we out that late? Then I notice that I feel a little sore. But it's okay. What's not okay is Alex Krycek snoring on my back while his cock is still inside me.

Actually, it *is* okay. He makes a pretty cute snoring noise, so quiet and light you'd think it was a child sleeping. His fingers are still resting against the base of my stomach, wet with cooled semen. I stretch a little and shake myself. "Hey, Alex."

Snorting noise.

"Alex, come on. No, you already did that--"

"What--?"

I feel him jerk behind me. "Oh, sorry, Mulder." He yawns. "I was falling asleep."

"I know."

"Just hold still."

It hurts some as he pulls out of me, but it's not too bad. He staggers off to the bathroom, running his dry fingers through his hair. While he's in there, I touch my asshole, curious; I do feel a little sore, and still open and relaxed, which feels weird, but it's not too bad, and it's light enough now to see that there isn't any blood. I had thought there might be.

Alex comes back and tosses a wet washcloth and a small towel in my direction, then falls on the bed and starts snoring again while I clean myself up. I should be feeling the same way--like most men, I usually want to pass out after a good come--but for some reason, I don't. I feel like I want to get out of bed and take on the world.

I roll over and look at the man dozing beside me. In the thin morning light, he looks so young, almost fragile--the skinny geek in the oversize suit. No--an Alex Krycek I haven't glimpsed before. A lonely child sleeping in my bed, content for the moment because he got something he really wanted. For once. Hair every which way, lips parted and twitching slightly as he snores, eyelids fluttering. I'm surprised he doesn't open those beautiful eyes and see me watching him. I'm even more surprised at the tenderness I feel for this man, this intruder into my life. He's given me something I didn't even know I wanted, and nothing can take that gift away. I leave him snoring in the bed while I take a shower.

When I come back, Alex is staring out the bedroom window, already dressed. He starts when I come up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder.

"You want a shower? Some coffee?"

He shakes his head. "No, I've gotta get going. Gotta go home and put on the suit." He flashes me a grin, but something feels wrong. He's not meeting my eyes. His face looks hard in the strengthening grey light. I rub his shoulder, tentatively.

"Are you... regretting this, Alex?"

He does meet my eyes, now. "No, Mulder. Never. No matter what." He leans up and kisses me, a soft, brief kiss that seems to match all the tenderness I was feeling for him a little while ago. It's the tenderness for another man that feels strange, not what we did together, the way the bodies fit. I've never felt this way about another man, or felt it from another man, and it scares me, but I'm not giving it up, no matter where it leads.

"I'll just let myself out," he says. I give him another kiss, nod, and start thinking about the caseload ahead of me.

It's not until I come back from work that I notice he left the leather jacket at my place. Tired, grungy, bored and frustrated all over again after another pointless day of tape surveillance, I pick it up off the coffee table and suddenly give in to the urge to bury my face in it, inhaling the scent of leather and the scent of Alex. Alex.... It's a really good-looking jacket, brown leather, not too fancy. I shed my jacket and my tie and pull it on, putting my arms into the sleeves, which I didn't do last night. Curious, I go check myself out in the mirror on the bedroom closet door. With my shirt unbuttoned at the throat, hands shoved in the pockets, it not only fits me, it flatters me. Good clothes have always been one of my weaknesses.

I check through the pockets to see if there's anything I should give back to him. Without really thinking about it, I've decided I'm only going to give it back when he asks for it. I don't find anything except a piece of cloth.

Spread out in my hands, it turns out to be a piece of black silk, real silk, not an imitation. Too small for a tie, too sheer and expensive for a handkerchief. Not large enough for a woman to wear over her head. Black. Twisted up, it's opaque enough that I can't see through it.

I lower the silk from my eyes and look at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes look twice as large as before and shiny, glazed. The silk was large enough to tie around my head easily, opaque enough to act as a blindfold. I lick my lips and then tie the silk around my head again, this time across my mouth, like a gag. It's large enough to do that, also.

I stand there a long time, tired, part of my brain telling me I need to wash, I need to eat, I need to watch my "Lost in Space" rerun. But I don't walk away from the mirror until I've twined the silk around my throat, tight enough to hurt, tight enough to start to constrict my breathing. My eyes are moss-green in the mirror, and the erection the pressure gives me hurts. Then I put the piece of silk on the bureau and hang Alex's jacket in the closet.

*********

end.


End file.
